


mornings

by orphan_account



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: M/M, spare me ive never written fanfics before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25322296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: a look into marvin's sunday morning and it's now-changing routine.
Relationships: Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	mornings

**Author's Note:**

> word count: 1,108
> 
> i've literally never (never) written fanfiction before and i somewhat like this so Yes i'm posting this everywhere i can ty. please bear with this, i wrote it in like one sitting at five in the morning trying to get through writer's block lmao.
> 
> but um! thank you for reading! i love you!

eight o'clock on the dot; that was the time he rose each and every sunday morning without fail. never one minute too early, never one minute too late. one could call the action a simple waste of his time- for, no matter the impressive hour at which he opened his eyes, the exhaustion laying heavily upon his shoulders wasn't exactly something he could shake off as soon as the light hit him; eight-/fifteen/ was more like the time which he finally gained the energy to move himself-, but he would call it a part of his ever-strict routine.

a 'routine'.. pardon the expression, but it was a queer little thing, wasn't it? a repeated series of actions he carried out over the course of his mornings; a particular coffee he'd draw from the shut cabinet after bathing, a certain sandwich he'd rush out the silence with by cooking. a course of procedures in which he'd been stubbornly sticking to for the many years of his adulthood, refusing to bend as per the request of anyone who dared to ask. there wasn't anything inherently special about it, no, he'd admit; his eyes would open at eight, body would drag itself around and carry out various tasks- drawing up breakfast, standing idly in the shower, all of it-, and, if all was right, he'd be shuffling out of the door by eight-forty with a briefcase in hand and hopes that the subway ride downtown wouldn't last ages in the back of his mind. but never did it change- not for his wife or lover- and never was it /going/ to. it wasn't in any /need/ of fixing, thank you kindly, and if it was then he was sure he would have gotten an earful of complaints from one of the two parties over the years. it was fine as it was and that was final.

..well, that was until a certain man going by the name of 'whizzer brown' made the choice to worm his way back into his life- and bed- again.

now, he was insistent on making it more than clear that he hadn't been all too keen on practically destroying the schedule he'd been following to a tee for the past, what, sixteen years of his life? nothing was inherently wrong with it, if not already obvious by the well-paying job and stable- ../enough/- family he'd been able to garner as the dates on the calendar were ticked off in colorful marker, and so why bother with bringing it to a sudden halt when it was clearly working out in his favor? why go through the hassle of changing what wasn't pleading for it? but in whizzer's infinite wisdom, that wasn't a good enough reason to let it be- he was sure he had saw the man's cheeks just about flush green after learning the amount of years in which this had been going-, and so.. here he lay; in bed, only growing increasingly aware of the fact that, despite this being a sunday morning in which he had nothing better to do /but/ waste away in bed, he /should/ be sitting in his armchair with a crumpled newspaper in hand and whatever television show had been left on the night before accompanying him faintly in the background.

and, yet, despite his insistence on maintaining at least /some/ sort of loose schedule that he could coax himself into eventually easing into, /this/- laying trapped beneath his lover's legs at.. good lord, /nine o'clock/- seemed to be the exact opposite of that. suddenly, without much warning other than a vague 'we /need/ to fix that, old man', he was being dragged into whizzer's own routine of spending so long in bed that he may as well have left a permanent indention on his side of the mattress. it.. certainly was a stark contrast to his own- /regular/- morning, that was for sure.

..yet, regardless the fact that his muscles would definitely be aching from lack of use by the time he was finally able to undo himself from his lover's near-vicelike hold lingering in the back of his mind and the reminder that he would most likely never recover from this swift change, he couldn't help but.. almost /enjoy/ it, in some sort of odd and twisted way.

believe it or not, it was a rare sight to see the man he was lucky enough to call his 'boyfriend'- a title that would have made his own stomach uncomfortably churn and a sneer grace the features of said man's face if he would have dared to utter it only a matter of years ago- in a position so languid and loose as the one which he laid in now, even as he woke up a considerable amount of time before him. never had he succeeded in the conquest of what had been dubbed his own side of the bed, for his back was often turned to face his direction and his legs were splayed out in a manner that had them nearly dangling off of the mattress. and, yet, here he lay; arms wrapped tight around him- or, rather, as tight as one could hold when unconscious- and those same legs of his holding him down in such a way that it would be considered a feat for him to manage to slip out. one would think that he was /trying/ to keep him stuck in this position until he was able to lift his head. ..but he sure as hell wasn't going to be one to complain, for he was sure his heart had nearly burst in his chest at the sight of bedhead set atop his chest and the sensation of a foot drumming against his leg to a beat he vaguely remembered having come from a song being played from his son's walkman the day earlier. 

this position of his would eventually be shifted into one they were more familiar with eventually, yes, and the strings of incoherent sentence fragments being muttered against his shirt would soon be replaced by the hint of sarcasm that laced much of his speech- he could nearly hear it in his head, now; 'hell/o/? earth to marvin? i asked if you wanted coffee?'-, certainly, but he'd be damned if he didn't whole-heartedly enjoy it. here whizzer laid, sated and satisfied with the sunlight that leaked through the sheer curtains adorning the window overhead, with his cheeks flushed and lips curled up into a sort-of smile that rivaled even the sun when it came to shining light into the room.

..perhaps this change in routine wasn't /so/ bad.


End file.
